Bruised Hearts
by omnomchocolate
Summary: John never knew how damaged Sherlock was until now, and all that he can hope is that his love and support will help lighten the scars on Sherlock's heart. AU High School. Teen!Johnlock. Some OOC-ness. Cowritten with par-0x-ysm from tumblr. Not beta-d or brit-picked. HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sherlock. Also, mentions of abuse in this chapter.

* * *

**A/N: **This was co-written with the wonderful writer par-0x-ysm who can be found on tumblr. I wrote as John and she wrote as Sherlock. Bolded words are meant to be texts. The perspectives do change back and forth.

* * *

_"Here's my love, take it. Here's my soul, use it. Here's my heart, don't break it. Here's my hand, hold it and together we will make it forever."_

-Unknown

* * *

Chapter I

Sherlock lay on John's bed and stared angrily at the ceiling, focusing on the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on it. "I just don't get why you chose to date her!" He spat.

"Well, I like her, Sherlock." John sighed as he stared at his agitated friend. "We've already been over this."

"But she's mean to me." He said childishly, pouting and picking the comforter. "She said she didn't like me." Sherlock lent into his bag and grabbed a cigarette flicking it in his hands.

"Sherlock." John groaned as he picked the cigarette out of Sherlock's fingers. He gave Sherlock a pointed look. "I'm not asking you to like her. Just to tolerate her. For me."

Sherlock reached for it and pouted more. "You can't just take my cigarettes away and make me like your girlfriends." He complained.

"Sherlock." John raised the cigarettes out of Sherlock's reach and raised an eyebrow. "These will kill you Sherlock. You need to stop. And I'm not. I care for you." John pursed his lips and gave Sherlock a reprimanding look.

"I don't care." Sherlock muttered, making a face and looking away. "You care about your girlfriends, not me."

"You don't mean that." John pushed Sherlock further in, making some space on his bed for him to sit down. "I do care about you, Sherlock. Even more than my girlfriend. You're my best mate. Nothing will ever change that."

"Right," Sherlock mumbled, turning away and curling into a ball. "Doesn't stop me hating them."

"Sherlock, listen to me." John sighed in frustration. "I don't expect you to like them. Like I said, tolerate. Please, don't do the thing you did with my previous girlfriends. I really think that Angie and I could work. Please, mate."

"Fine." Sherlock muttered, pulling the covers over his face and ignoring John. He hated Angie. He hated all of John's girlfriends. They didn't even deserve to touch him, let alone be able to be in relationship with him. What did Sherlock get? Nothing.

John scrunched his face in confusion, clueless to the cause of Sherlock's agitation. John tentatively touched Sherlock's shoulder. "Is there something wrong? Sherlock?"

"John, don't." He mumbled, pushing his hand away. "Don't do that." Sherlock said again, scrabbling to the other side of the bed. "I shouldn't even be here, I should be at Seb's." Sherlock muttered, pushing his feet out the covers and looking around. Panic etching his features.

John's worry and concern grew deeper as he watched Sherlock flinch from his touch and back away from him. There was a manic look in Sherlock's eyes, one that reminded John of a cornered animal, and one that he had most certainly never seen on his friend's face. There was something bothering him and John was determined to help Sherlock in any way that he could. "Sherlock? What's wrong? Please tell me what's going on so I can help you."

"It's not important." Sherlock muttered, pulling his sleeves over his hands and trying to hide his panic. "I just... Seb will be angry if I'm not there."

John frowned. Clearly, Sherlock did not want to talk about this, and if so, there was no way John was going to get anything out of him. "I... okay." He watched his friend make his way over to the door. "Sherlock. Just... if you need someone to talk to... I'm here. For you."

"I can't talk to anyone John, okay?" Sherlock muttered, reaching for his shoes and frowning.

"Me, Sherlock, you bloody idiot. You have me. You can always talk to me." John stood up, crossing his arms as he faced his friend.

"It's not really that easy to tell the guy you're in love with that your boyfriend beats you up after sex and that you wish you could be with him instead." Sherlock said, rushing through the words and opening the door. "I have to go."

John stood dumbly in the middle of his room, before he responded. All he could hear was Sherlock's love confession. He loves... me? "Sherlock! Wait!" He made his way after his friend, forgoing his shoes in his haste. He pattered barefoot after his best mate.

Sherlock stopped and turned around, trying to hide the tears in his eyes. "It's okay, I got it, you have a girlfriend."

"I..." As John stared at Sherlock, who was obviously trying to hide the tears in his eyes, John realized one very crucial and life-changing fact. He wanted nothing more than to embrace Sherlock, this being that had seen so much and experienced so little love in his life. He wanted Sherlock to know that he would always be there for him, that he would always care for him, no matter what. He wanted to tell Sherlock the same three words he had just told John. Bloody hell. John blinked. John was in love with Sherlock.

"I really need to go." Sherlock mumbled, looking down and trying for a smile. "It's okay. I hope you guys have a good night or whatever." He turned away, and jogged down the stairs, not looking back at John.

John stared at the spot where Sherlock had been standing several moments before, dumbstruck and unable to move. In just a few minutes, Sherlock had turned John's life upside down and twisted what John thought was his secure sexuality inside out. He was in love. Not with his girlfriend Angie. Not with any woman to that matter. With a man. And not with just any man. He was in love with his bloody best mate. "Fuck." John whispered to himself. "Fuck."

* * *

Sherlock ran outside and swallowed heavily, running a hand through his hair and beginning to walk to Seb's house. He bit his lip and wondered why he'd even said anything, John didn't feel the same. Not at all, and all he'd done is mess it up.

* * *

John walked back to his house in a daze, unable to understand his feelings. He was in love with Sherlock. His best friend. Jesus Christ. John laughed, his voice nearing hysterics. "Sherlock Holmes, I am in love with you." His only response was the cold night air and the rustling of leaves.

* * *

Sherlock stopped outside Seb's apartment, and frowned. He got out his phone and hesitated for a moment, before quickly texting two people.

**[To Seb] I can't make it tonight, but I can make it up to you tomorrow? SH  
[To John] I'm sorry, forget what I said. SH **

He pressed send and walked home.

* * *

John's phone vibrated, signifying a text. He looked at his phone. It was from Sherlock. John wasn't sure if he could deal with this right now. He needed to calm himself. John pressed the power button, and after a few seconds, the screen of his phone turned black. He made his way into his house, nervous about the moment that he would have to see his friend again.

* * *

Sherlock opened the door to his dorm room and slammed the door, sinking against it and closing his eyes. His phone buzzed, and he hoped it was John, only to feel his stomach clench when it was Seb.

**[From Seb] Yeah, you better. SM**

Sherlock threw his phone against the wall and didn't move.

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**A/N**: Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a review!~ And don't worry, the chapters will get longer. :)

-omnomchocolate


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sherlock. Also, mentions of abuse in this chapter.

* * *

**A/N: **This was cowritten with the brilliant writer par-0x-ysm who can be found on tumblr. I wrote as John and she wrote as Sherlock. Bolded words are meant to be texts. The perspectives do change back and forth.

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_"Behind every beautiful thing, there's some kind of pain." _

-Bob Dylan

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Chapter II

John had been staring at the same peeling spot on the ceiling of his bedroom for the past four hours, deep in thought. His mind replayed the scene with Sherlock over and over. He still couldn't believe that it was real. Sherlock loved him. He loved Sherlock. John supposed that it all made sense now. The way he always wanted to be around Sherlock. The way his heart felt lighter and happier in Sherlock's presence. The fact that he was willing to do anything for his mate.

Perhaps I have been in love with Sherlock for longer than I know. John mused as his mind flickered back to Sherlock's confession. "It's not really that easy to tell the guy you're in love with that your boyfriend beats you up after sex and that you wish you could be with him instead." Sherlock had told him.

Wait a- Jesus Christ. John twisted onto his side, scrambling for his phone. How the hell had he missed that last part? Sherlock had just admitted to him that his boyfriend was bloody abusive and here John was reflecting over his feelings for Sherlock. His friend needed his help, and John was doing nothing remotely close to supportive. Pushing his emotions aside, John turned on his phone. Bloody phone, why does it take forever to start up? John grumbled impatiently. A text popped up from Sherlock.

**[To John] I'm sorry, forget what I said. SH **

John definitely was not going to do that! He dialed in Sherlock's number, only to reach his voicemail. Fuck! "Sherlock! It's John. Whenever you get this, call me back, yeah? I need to talk to you! I mean it." John threw on his jumper and a pair of pants, and ran out of his house. He needed to get to Sherlock's dorm room. John waved his hand frantically as a cab slowed to a stop in front of him.

* * *

Sherlock shrunk back further into his bed and poked at the bruises on his arms. He watched them turn from purple to yellow, and made a face of distaste at them. As if it was all their fault for showing his weakness. He rolled over and closed his eyes, only to open them again as someone knocked loudly on the door. "Open it." Someone shouted through the door, causing Sherlock to wince and get up. "I'm coming." Sherlock mumbled, pulling the door open and bracing himself for a hit.

* * *

John snuck across the campus to the side of the building. He didn't have the keycard to the door, so he would have to sneak his way in. John pried open the loose window Sherlock had shown him months earlier, and carefully crept inside. He weaved through the empty hallways, taking the stairs two at a time as he made his way towards Sherlock's room on the third floor. At night, the dorms were eerily dark and quiet, every door closed and no living person in sight.

John came to a stop in front of Sherlock's door. He paused, his hands hesitating to knock on the door. What if Sherlock didn't want to see him? John shook that thought aside. Just do it! John knocked on the door, hearing Sherlock mumble some words before the door slowly opened moments later.

Sherlock froze when he saw John, slowly backing away. "Why are you here?" He asked shakily, sitting on the edge of his bed. He bit his lip and quickly pushed his phone under the bed, not wanting John to see the messages from Seb, flashing on the screen. Sherlock didn't understand it, he'd messed up everything, yet here John was.

"I'm worried about you." John stared at his shoes, his hands in his pockets. He took a step inside and closed the door behind him. Sherlock was talking to him, which was one good thing, though John couldn't tell if he wanted him here or not. "I'm sorry." John whispered, his eyes flickering back up to meet Sherlock's uneasy gaze. "I didn't mean to disturb whatever you were doing. I know it's late but I just... I wanted to apologize. I was a dick. I didn't mean to run away like that. I, uh..." John's words died midway as his eyes wandered to Sherlock's arm. The length of it was scattered with bruises of all shapes and colors. His heart dropped at the sight of abuse on Sherlock's body.

"Jesus Christ." John walked over to his friend and gave him a worried look. "Sebastian did this to you?"

"Obviously." Sherlock said shortly, pulling his sleeves back over his arms. "Don't have a different boyfriend do I?" He walked away from John, leaning against the window and closing his eyes. "Don't act like you care John, because I know how you feel and it's fine." Sherlock itched absent mindedly at a cut on his collarbone, making it bleed again. "You can have a relationship, and I promise I won't fuck it up." Sherlock felt his stomach drop as he said that, but he meant it. He was done chasing John and always messing things up. He just wanted John happy now.

"Sherlock." John called out to his friend. Sherlock refused to look at him, instead staring absently out the window. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. I'm here because I care about you, so don't you dare turn away from me." John stared at his friend, who was pointedly ignoring him. "Sherlock! Jesus. I love you, alright?" John blurted out. Fuck. That wasn't supposed to come out.

Sherlock turned to John, pain etched in his features. "Don't say that. Don't you dare because I'll fall for you even more and it already hurts." Sherlock swallowed and looked at his feet. "Stop lying to me. No one loves me." He sunk down the wall until his head was on his knees and slowly broke down, tears falling hard. "No one loves me, okay?"

John's heart broke as he watched his friend break down in front of him. He sat down next to his friend, his arms wrapping gently around Sherlock's back. "Hey, don't say that." John rubbed Sherlock's back soothingly, pulling him closer towards John. John's anger flared. What kind of sick being would harm him like this? Sherlock didn't deserve anything but the best. "I care for you. You know I would never lie about that. Sherlock, if there's one thing you never need to worry about, that's me. You'll always have me."

Sherlock didn't raise his head, tears still clouding his eyes. He felt John's hands on his back, and lent into him, crying into the front of John's jumper. He didn't know what to do, he was torn between complete self-loathing, and complete love for the boy next to him. "I don't know what to do John." Sherlock mumbled, finally looking up at John and biting his lip. "I'm sick of messing things up." He murmured, letting his head fall back onto John's shoulder. He hated what he was doing, making John choose between his friend and his girlfriend. He hated making John feel guilty and like he had to care for him. "You don't have to be here." Sherlock whispered, flushing a little. "You can go and see your girlfriend, it makes more sense to be with her."

"But then why do I want to stay with you? Maybe sometimes what we want doesn't make sense, Sherlock." John murmured quietly. He leaned back, his fingers gently wiping Sherlock's tears away. "You don't need to worry about anything. You didn't mess anything up. You're perfect, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise, Sherlock Holmes." John smiled before placing a gentle kiss on Sherlock's forehead. What John was feeling, it was definitely love, and he decided he would do nothing less than embrace it. Who cared what other people thought?

"I don't know." Sherlock mumbled, looking down and smiling a little at the kiss on his forehead. "I'm nowhere near perfect." He murmured, leaning his head into John's shoulder. "Seriously, I'm not. Look." He pulled his sleeves back up to expose the bruising and cuts and bit his lip. "This wouldn't have happened if I was perfect." Sherlock felt kind of ashamed that he'd brought them back up, especially after John looked so content, but he meant it. He hated himself for being so weak.

"To me, you are. You're the strongest person I know. You didn't deserve any of this, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. I'm sorry I couldn't help. I'm useless. An utter idiot." John whispered. His fingers circled over a particularly dark and painful bruise on Sherlock's arm. John couldn't help but frown. He leaned down, tenderly kissing each one of Sherlock's bruises. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock bit his lip, kissing John's head softly. "You're too good to me." He mumbled, tears forming as he watched John's kiss his arms. "You're just... I love you." He whispered, sort of hoping John wouldn't hear him. "So much." He closed his eyes softly.

John looked up, giving Sherlock a large smile. "I think I've always loved you. I just didn't realize it until you told me." His body tingled with warmth and his heart swelled with happiness. He couldn't believe that anyone would ever treat Sherlock like that. He was going to kill Sebastian when he saw him again. John hesitated. "Has this been going on for as long as you've been with him, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded, biting his lip and trying to hide the shame from his eyes. "We'd been together two weeks when he did it for the first time." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and leaning back against the wall. "I don't know what made him do it, but it never really stopped." Sherlock swallowed and looked down. "He said I wasn't strong enough to stop it. And I guess I agree with him."

"Oh Sherlock," John frowned as he drew Sherlock in for a tight hug. John's fingers threaded gently through Sherlock's silky dark hair. He could feel the taller boy's body heave under his grasp. Jesus Christ. John couldn't imagine what Sherlock had gone through, but he was going to do his best to help him through it all. "I wish you had told me earlier." John whispered, closing his eyes. If only... If only he had known earlier, he would have been able to help Sherlock. Then Sherlock would never have gone through this much pain.

Sherlock tried not to cry too much, but failed horribly. He leant close to John, tears falling down his face and making his body heave. "Seb told me th- that no one would care." Sherlock stuttered, crying making it difficult for him to talk. "and even now he still is threatening me." Sherlock reached quickly for his phone and brought it out. Four new messages from Seb appeared.

**[From Seb] You better not be with anyone else, fucking faggot. SM  
[From Seb] When I see you I'm going to fucking skin you. SM  
[From Seb] Reply to me you little cunt! SM  
[From Seb] Fuck you, next time you see me you'll be unconscious before you can apologise. SM**

Sherlock swallowed and shakily dropped the phone to the ground. "I'm scared." He whispered to John, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

John's anger flared tremendously as he read over Sebastian's texts to Sherlock. He had the mind to go find and kill that sick bastard right this very moment. "You don't need to be afraid of him, Sherlock. If he so much as looks your way, I'll give him something to worry about." John growled, holding Sherlock closer to him. He gave Sherlock a reassuring kiss on his forehead before resting his head against Sherlock's. "I won't let him hurt you, especially if I can do something about it. So please don't worry."

Sherlock whimpered quietly and burrowed into John's side, hiding his face. "Please don't let him hurt you." He almost whispered, swallowing hard and glancing up at John. "I can handle him hurting me, but if he hurts you I don't know what I'd do." Sherlock bit his lip and searched John's eyes silently. "I could just avoid him. He might not hurt me if I slowly break things off."

"Oh Sherlock," John smiled gently as he rubbed Sherlock's back. "I won't. You don't need to worry about me." John's gaze wandered over Sherlock, eventually focusing on a small bleeding cut on Sherlock's collarbone. John traced his finger gently over the cut, the dark red drops smearing slightly on his fingertips and marring Sherlock's pale skin. John frowned and stood up. "Do you have any cream and bandages?"

Sherlock shrugged and pulled John back down. "I don't know, not important. Just don't go near him, okay?" Sherlock frowned and held out a pinky. "Promise me, John." Sherlock looked at him, desperation in his eyes. "Please." He mumbled, voice breaking a little and biting his lip.

John blinked, surprised at the pleading tone Sherlock's voice held and the sheer desperation in his eyes. John let out a deep breath, resigned, as his pinky intertwined around Sherlock's. Even if John really wanted to give Sebastian a piece of his mind, he wouldn't, for Sherlock's sake. "Okay. I promise..." John gave Sherlock a firm look. "But if he hurts you again... I won't hesitate."

Sherlock smiled, sighing in relief slightly. "He won't. Hopefully." Sherlock mumbled, resting his head against the wall and picking at the cut on his neck. "It's not that bad, not until the pain hits." Sherlock flashed back to what Seb would say, hitting him and then holding him. Telling him he was beautiful. Sherlock shuddered slightly, and brought his knees up to his chest.

"Hey," John shot Sherlock a concerned look, his hands prying Sherlock's fingers away from his cut. John folded his arms, a stern expression on his face. "What he did to you, it's not okay. You don't need to justify any of it. He never should have hit you in the first place." Sherlock didn't respond, and only seemed to withdraw further into his mind. John sighed, and stood up, as he rustled around the room. He searched through Sherlock's drawers before he pulled out a half-empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a crushed box of bandages. John walked back over to Sherlock and sat down in front of him, crossing his legs and leaning forward to poke Sherlock's knees. "Can I?" John asked, his eyes searching Sherlock's for permission.

Sherlock shook out of his thoughts of Seb and glanced at John. "Can you what sorry?" He asked, face clouding in confusion. He awkwardly pushed hair out of his face and bit his lip, hoping John didn't realise how much this was hurting him. He didn't want John to know that the physical pain meant nothing to him, it was just the mental scarring that kept him up at night.

John gave Sherlock an awkward smile as he cleared his throat. He held up the bottle of peroxide and the box of bandages for Sherlock to see. "I know this might not help much... but I still think it would be a good idea... Y'know, to avoid infection..." John scratched his neck, his eyes glancing up at the ceiling. "And I would really like to do something for you..." He trailed off quietly, looking down at his toes and then back up at Sherlock's face. Sherlock must have thought him such an idiot. He knew that the cuts and bruises were only physical, and they would heal, but mentally? John wasn't sure. He could only hope that time and maybe his support would help lighten the scars on Sherlock's heart.

Sherlock nodded and pushed his hair away, so John could get to most of the bruising. "Should I take off my shirt?" Sherlock asked awkwardly, fingers ghosting his buttons. "It's a little worse there." He blushed a little and avoided John's eyes, not wanting to make things any worse than they were.

"Sure," John smiled softly, a slight red tinge on his cheeks. He averted his eyes, opting to stare at Sherlock's cabinets instead. After several moments, John stood up. "Ah! Forgot the cotton pads! Do you have any?" John asked, looking back down at Sherlock. Sherlock's shirt was half-buttoned, his pale skin peeking out from beneath his silk pyjamas. John coughed awkwardly and turned away. "Never mind, I think I know where it is." Even though John had seen plenty of male bodies, seeing as he was on plenty of sports teams, John couldn't help but feel nervous around Sherlock. John rustled through the cabinets, eventually finding a bag of cotton pads. John sat back down in front of Sherlock and opened the bottle of peroxide. He poured some on the cotton pad and looked back up at Sherlock. "It might sting a little."

Sherlock pulled off his shirt, and tried not to feel self conscious. John had seen plenty of shirtless guys, Sherlock told himself. John was an avid athlete; he played rugby, did swimming, and was in track and field. John was practically smothered by naked guys on a daily basis. Sherlock pulled away from the thought of John seeing naked men and focused back at him, nodding and biting his lip. He watched John carefully begin to clean his skin and winced a little. His face contorted slightly, but he mostly just tried to focus on John's hands. "It isn't as bad as it looks." Sherlock mumbled, realising a little late how bad the cuts and bruising patterning his chest must of looked.

John was appalled at the amount of damage that had been done on Sherlock's body. His chest was littered with bruises of all shapes and color, and there were cuts and scratches scattered from his neck down to his stomach. John couldn't believe that Sherlock had endured all of this, and it made John's heart clench painfully. "God Sherlock." he gasped. "I can't believe..." John bit his lip, his eyes searching Sherlock's. John patted the pad gently against a particularly large cut, causing Sherlock to hiss in pain and recoil slightly. "I'm sorry." John mumbled quietly, his hand withdrawing from Sherlock's chest. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to endure this. I'm sorry I couldn't help you.

Sherlock swallowed and shook his head. "It's okay." He mumbled, leaning against the wall a little. "It's not too bad." Not too bad compared to when it was inflicted. Sherlock looked up at John and watched him work, slowly reaching forward and brushing his cheek. "You couldn't have done anything." Sherlock murmured, searching John's eyes for a shred of understanding. "Even if you tried, nothing would've stopped him." Sherlock let go of John's face, so he wouldn't notice too many of the cuts or bruising on his arms, and held his hands in his lap.

John smiled at Sherlock's simple gesture. His warm fingers ghosted over John's cheek for a brief moment, making John forget for a few seconds the abuse that Sherlock had endured. John gave Sherlock a slow nod of understanding. "Can you turn around? I need to treat the ones on your back." he asked politely. Sherlock obliged and John resumed his care. He set aside the used cotton pad, picking up a new one and dousing it in peroxide. "I..." John's hands paused briefly, before he continued dabbing at Sherlock's cuts. "I just wish I could have done something."

Sherlock hugged his chest, arms close to his body. "Thank you." Sherlock whispered, almost inaudibly. "Thank you for caring." He said a little bit louder. He looked over his shoulder and fought the urge to lean and kiss John. He quickly focused back on the wall. "What are you going to do about... her?" Sherlock didn't really want to ask, or even think about John's girlfriend, but it seemed appropriate to ask after so much attention was being drawn to him. He wasn't sure how he felt about her, not now he'd basically made her boyfriend come and heal him at the middle of the night. But either way, he did want to know.

"Well, I'm going to break up with her." John frowned as his thoughts wandered to Angie. He supposed that she wouldn't take it very well. "It's the right thing to do. It wouldn't be fair to her, and especially not to you. I want to be with you Sherlock, and only you." John smiled softly as he set aside the cotton pad. John pulled out some bandages and began placing them carefully over the deep cuts on Sherlock's back. "Don't you worry about that, alright Sherlock? I'll take care of it."

Sherlock swallowed heavily and nodded. "You don't have to. If you want to leave it for a bit, break up with her later. It's really okay." Sherlock self consciously hugged his knees to his chest. He really didn't understand why John would come and help him, break up with his girlfriend for him and just... it was too much. He didn't understand what made him so special that John would give up everything for him. "I'd understand if you wanted to wait." He mumbled, itching the bruising on his leg and biting his lip.

"No Sherlock." John said firmly, looking Sherlock directly in the eyes. "It's not. I want to focus on you only. I don't love Angie, I love you." John crumpled the bandage wrappers and threw them into the trash bin. John rotated Sherlock around and handed him his shirt. "All done." John grinned, patting Sherlock on the shoulder. "Now just be careful, and everything should heal fine." John grabbed the first aid items and placed them back into Sherlock's drawer. John and Sherlock locked gazes, and the silence in the room become very noticeable. John muffled a cough, and turned away from Sherlock. "Well, I... uh, I suppose I should go." He picked up his shoes and began putting one on his left foot. "I should let you get to sleep..."

Sherlock felt a surge of panic rise in his stomach and he pulled John to him. "No, please. Don't." He bit his lip and blinked a couple of times. "I... I can't be alone right now. Please stay." He looked down and shook his head. "I'm sorry, you... You don't have to stay." He let go of John and walked to his bed, sitting on it and pulling himself into a ball. "You have a lot of things to sort out." He mumbled, turning away and watching the window carefully, trying to avoid John seeing the sheer desperation in his eyes.

John watched as Sherlock curled into a ball, and turned away from him. He climbed onto the bed and sat down next to Sherlock, drawing his knees up to his chest. The bed creaked under their weight. John peeked over at Sherlock, who was staring out the window. "Sherlock," John whispered quietly. "Do you have any pyjamas I could borrow for the night?"

Sherlock turned to John and smiled gratefully, tears in his eyes. "In the drawers, just whatever looks comfy." Sherlock suddenly realised the one very singular bed and blushed a little. He wasn't sure if John would be okay sleeping in the same bed as him, especially after the awkward nightmares he had been getting lately. He wanted to look to John for advice, but he didn't really want to make things anymore awkward. So Sherlock just moved over to the far side of the bed, and pushed his pillows so they were side by side, instead of on top of each other.

John went over to the drawers, grabbing a black tee-shirt and a comfy pair of grey sweats. He went to the corner of the room and began to change out of his jumper and his pants into the pyjamas. "Is it okay if I turn off the lights?" John asked. Sherlock gave a mumble of approval. John flicked off the switch, plunging the room into darkness, save for the light of the moon through the window. He ruffled his hands through his hair before making his way back to Sherlock's bed. He wiggled underneath the covers and rested his arm and head on the pillow. His other arm was hanging limply from the edge of the bed. John stared at the ceiling for a few moments, his heart beating like a drum and his face flushing a bright red (which Sherlock couldn't see in the dark, thank God). He waited a few moments before turning his head to look at Sherlock. "Good night, Sherlock." John whispered.

Sherlock turned his head, their noses brushing. "Good night." He whispered, not moving from that position. He wanted to pull John into him and make the nightmares stay away, but he had no idea how to do that subtly so he just left it. He awkwardly shifted to let John have more room, pulling most of the covers with him. He bit his lip to stop from laughing and looked back up at the ceiling.

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**A/N**: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for the follows and much appreciation to annie for the review! Don't forget to leave a review! :)

-omnomchocolate


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sherlock. Also, violence in this chapter.

* * *

**A/N: **This was cowritten with the brilliant writer par-0x-ysm who can be found on tumblr. I wrote as John and she wrote as Sherlock. Bolded words are meant to be texts. The perspectives do change back and forth.

* * *

_"With power comes the abuse of power."_  
-Judd Rose

* * *

John woke up to an empty bed. "Sherlock?" John asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily as he searched around for his mate. He fumbled with the covers, standing up to see no one in sight. John furrowed his eyebrows and ran his hand through his messy hair before reaching for his phone lying on top of Sherlock's bed table. He typed in a text and sent it to Sherlock.

**[To Sherlock] Hey, where are you? -JW**

* * *

Sherlock sat on the roof, smoking and sending smoke rings into the sky. When his phone buzzed he quickly checked it, shifting it to the other hand.

**[To John] On the roof. SH **

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and carried on smoking, watching the smoke trails hover in front of him.

* * *

John climbed the stairs, pushing the door open to the roof. Sherlock was sitting at the far end of the roof, his legs hanging over the ledge. John walked over and sat down next to Sherlock. John observed as the sky transitioned from day to night. The fringes of sunlight were in the distance, and up high in the sky was the faint outline of the moon. Swirls of pink collided with blue midway. John glanced over at Sherlock and frowned as he watched him blow puffs and rings of smoke into the air. "You're smoking again." John commented.

"Yes, thank you. I didn't notice." Sherlock muttered sarcastically, flicking ash over the edge of the building and watching it with distaste. He sighed and leant back, knees pointing towards the sky. "It's very fragile." Sherlock commented, licking his lips and watching the smoke from his cigarette float upwards. "I could jump off this building right now, and I'd never have to hurt again." He turned to John with a wistful smile. "Wouldn't have to deal with this crap."

John rolled his eyes. If this was any other day, he would have taken Sherlock's cigarette and thrown it right off the roof. However, considering all that had happened, John decided to let it slide this once. John frowned at Sherlock's words. I could jump off this building right now, and I'd never have to hurt again. John leaned over the edge, staring at the hard pavement far below. He was terribly frightened at the implications of Sherlock's sentence. Life was indeed such a fragile thing, and the fact that it was so easily lost, so far out of his reach, made John feel very, very tiny. "And you would leave me behind to deal with the aftermath?" He whispered, his voice small, as he played with the strings on his shoes. "You wouldn't be so cruel, would you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock swallowed and looked at John, searching John's face for a hint of playfulness. But he was serious. Sherlock quickly moved closer to John and lent against him, gently shaking his head. "No, I would never leave you. I promise." He flicked the cigarette butt off the edge of the building and reached for John's hand. "I'm sorry." He whispered, watching John's face. He lent forward and quickly kissed John's forehead. "I'm sorry."

John gave Sherlock a sad smile, his fingers intertwining with Sherlock's. He stared wistfully into the sky, where the morning rays had overtaken the darkness. The wind whispered softly into John's ears, ruffling his hair gently as it made its way past. Down below, people were milling about, beginning to make their way out of the dorms and towards their first class. John stood up, his hands slipping from Sherlock's. "We should be making our way to our first class, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded and bit his lip, standing up as well. "Do you think they can see us from down there? We must seem so small." Sherlock glanced to John next to him, lent forwards and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "They must think we're so insignificant, and we think them the same." Sherlock paused and looked back over the edge. "What makes you mean so much to me? Why aren't you like them?" He didn't mean to sound so harsh about it, but he was genuinely unsure. He didn't understand it at all, and he'd been trying to figure it out. Chemistry and Biology didn't tell him anything, and he was starting to wonder if there was any type of science behind it at all.

"I don't know, Sherlock." John replied quietly as he mulled over Sherlock's questions. "I don't know if that is something I can answer. I don't know if there is any one that can answer that. Maybe it's just one of those questions in life that we will never have an explanation for." He looked over the edge. From this height, everyone looked the same: tiny colored dots in an expanse of green and grey. John marveled at this sight. In this sea of people, in this world where John was one insignificant star in a sky of millions, he had somehow come to form a connection with the brightest star of them all. John didn't believe in God; he especially didn't believe in miracles. But with Sherlock standing beside him, perhaps, John thought, it was something worth changing his beliefs for, because there was no way that this, what Sherlock and John had, wasn't a miracle. "All I know, Sherlock, is that I'm glad to have met you."

Sherlock smiled, biting his lip and turning to John. He took his hand and squeezed gently. "I'm glad I met you too." He leant in closer to John and closed his eyes. He had no idea what he would have done if he had never met John, he would probably be on the concrete below, a mess to clear up. He supposed, even alive, he still was. But at least someone was willing to try and make him clean again. Sherlock stepped away from the edge and pulled John with him. "Time to go I think." Sherlock mumbled, suddenly very scared of the edge of the building. "Class." He reminded John gently.

"Right," John checked his phone for the time. His eyes widened. "Bloody hell. We're going to be late, Sherlock! First period starts in a minute. Run?" he asked, his lips quirking into a grin.

Sherlock suddenly had an idea. "I'll beat you." He said playfully, already rushing down the steps and sliding through the window. "First one there gets a prize." He yelled, grabbing his clothes and shoving them on. He chucked John's proper clothes across the room, childishly pushing his bag under the bed and laughing as he tried to put his shoes on.

"What!" John shouted, laughing, as he chased after Sherlock. "That's completely unfair!" he grabbed Sherlock's other shoe and threw it across the room, before scrambling for his clothes. John threw off the clothes he was wearing, pulling on his shirt, and struggling to put his feet through his pants with his shoes on. "Damn it." John cried out, as he slipped and fell flat on the floor. "Jesus, Sherlock, you sodding cheater." he pouted as he watched Sherlock make for his shoe. John got back up, zipping up his pants, before fumbling for his bag underneath the bed.

Sherlock laughed and got his shoe, pushing John forward onto the bed and grabbing his bag. He managed to pull his sweater on and grabbed John's shoes. He bolted to the door, wrestling with the handle and giggling. "I'm not cheating, I'm winning." He yanked open the door and threw John's shoes to the other side of the hall, dashing down the other way and hitting the elevator button.

John pushed himself off of the bed, slinging his bag over his back before padding barefoot into the hall. At the end of the hallway were his shoes. He let out a groan before running over to slip them on. If John waited for the elevator, there was no way he would win against Sherlock. Stairs, it was. John smiled. He wasn't the captain of the rugby team, swim team, and part of the track team for nothing. John pushed open the doors to the stairs and began sprinting his way down.

* * *

The elevator doors opened, and Sherlock ran out. He sprinted towards C block, where his next class was and tried to keep an eye on where John was. When he didn't see him, he quickly detoured, cutting through two buildings to get to the entrance quicker. Sherlock slowed down as he turned the corner, only to walk straight into someone. "Sorry!" He said, reaching to steady himself. The person he walked into grabbed him.

"There you are." A voice Sherlock recognised murmured, pushing him against the wall. "I thought you were avoiding me."

* * *

John pushed open the doors, dashing outside but slowing down when Sherlock was nowhere in sight. The courtyard was empty, save for John. Sherlock was probably already three-quarters of the way to class. "Bloody hell." John chuckled. "That git is faster than I thought." He began running towards C block to join Sherlock in their first class together.

* * *

Sherlock struggled slightly, but that only caused Seb to push him harder against the brick. "You really think I'm stupid?" He hissed, mouth close to Sherlock's ear. "What. Do. You. Take. Me. For?" He spat, emphasis each word with a shove. Sherlock tried to slide under his arm and out into the courtyard.

"Let me go." Sherlock choked out, pushing himself off the wall and struggling. Seb laughed harshly, and struck Sherlock across the face with the back of his hand.

"Not until I'm done."

* * *

John opened the door to the classroom, and stepped in. Class had just begun and the students had been sectioned off into groups, chatter and laughter filling the air. John looked around, scanning the heads of every student, but he did not see Sherlock anywhere.

"John, got pissed last night, did ya?" John turned to his side to see Lawrence, his friend and fellow rugby teammate come up to him. "You're late. That's a first."

"No mate, I actually didn't."

"You're a bloody liar." Lawrence laughed, elbowing John before throwing his hands over John's shoulder. "Better invite me next time, yeah?"

"Sure thing." John shrugged, unable to hold his attention on Lawrence. He felt a sliver of worry worm its way into his mind. Where was Sherlock? He looked over the room again, catching his friend's attention.

"Ya lookin' for someone?" Lawrence raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, have you seen Sherlock?" John asked, turning to his friend. Lawrence shook his head in reply.

"No, haven't seen him at all this morning."

"Shit." John's eyes widened with realization. He yanked the door open and sprinted out of the classroom. If his intuition was right... Sherlock was in danger. He needed to find him now.

* * *

Sherlock winced almost audibly as Seb hit him, wheezing a little when he hit him in the stomach. "Why are you doing this?" Sherlock whimpered, trying to turn away.

"Because you were with John last night weren't you?" Seb murmured deeply, almost caressing Sherlock's collarbone before he smacked down on it. Sherlock collapsed against the wall and grimaced in pain. Sherlock didn't know what to do, so he just let Seb hit him, hoping he'd grow tired and leave him alone.

* * *

John heard the sounds of struggle behind one of the school buildings and immediately made a sprint towards the noise. As he got closer, he could hear the quiet sounds of conversation. Sherlock's quiet voice drifted towards him before it started to get violent.

Fuck. He could only hope he wasn't too late. John turned the corner to see a tall, blonde-haired bloke shoving Sherlock against the wall and throwing punches into him. Sherlock was curled defensively against the wall, his arms taking the brunt of the blows and trying ineffectively to ward off the stronger boy's ruthless hits. Sebastian. John's fury fuelled every thought, propelled every step, and the only thing John was focused on was protecting Sherlock.

"You fucker, get off of him!" John hurled himself at Sebastian, knocking the taller boy into the ground. Sebastian's head collided painfully with the cement, a loud crack snapping through the air. Then John punched, bone colliding with bone.

"Don't-" And punched again.

"You-" And again.

"Ever-" Again.

"Touch-" Again.

"Him-" Again.

"Like-" Again.

"That-" John stood up, giving the bloodied boy a deadly look. "Ever again. Do you hear me, you piece of shit? If I see you near him, next time, I might not be able to stop." John hissed, his hands gripping Sebastian's shirt tightly.

Sherlock was still against the wall clutching his collar bone and trying not to cry. He was shaking, unable to form words. He watched in fear, waiting for Seb to get up and start hurting John instead. When he didn't get up, Sherlock quickly sunk to the floor, head in his hands. He swallowed loudly and reached for John, wanting to thank him but not finding the words. Sherlock bit his lip and looked up at John, looking in his eyes, hoping he understood.

John watched Sebastian, his eyes never leaving the boy until he had gotten up and limped out of sight. John immediately ran over to Sherlock, his hands cradling his friend. "Oh Sherlock!" John cried, his eyes frantically scanning over Sherlock's body. Sherlock's arms was littered with fresh bruises, his lip was split and bleeding profusely, and his collarbone was most likely broken by the way Sherlock was clutching at it. John's forehead furrowed, his fingers brushing over Sherlock's cheek. "I'm so sorry for being late." John whispered. He looked into Sherlock's soft grey eyes and frowned. "I'm sorry." he repeated.

Sherlock shook his head, words still having difficulty forming. He lent his head against John's shoulder and closed his eyes. "It hurts." He mumbled, still holding his collar bone. His head was starting to spin dangerously and he held John tightly. "Ow." He mumbled, black starting to creep around the edges of his vision. The adrenaline was wearing off, and Sherlock was starting to feel the pain. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on John's face, searching for anything in his face. Sherlock was scared, even through the fear that Seb induced, and the pain. He was scared. Scared John would leave now he saw him at his worst, scared that now John had seen it with his own eyes he wouldn't want to keep saving him. Sherlock bit his lip to stop it wobbling and blinked quickly, pushing away tears that were starting to form.

John ran his hands through Sherlock's hair soothingly. Sherlock's face was contorted with pain, his jaw clenched painfully, his eyes fluttering as he fought to stay awake. If only John had come faster. He was always late. Always. And now Sherlock was in this position again.

John shuddered and let out a shaky breath. What would have happened if he came too late? He didn't want to think about the possibilities. John looked back down at Sherlock, his arm wrapping gently around Sherlock. "You can close your eyes," John whispered, as he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Sherlock's forehead. "You're safe now." John pulled out his phone, dialing the emergency number before he looked down at Sherlock. John watched as Sherlock's eyes slowly shut, his breathing evening out. John spoke. And then he waited.

It was a few minutes before John heard the sounds of sirens fill the air and the steps of people rushing over to him.

* * *

**A/N**: Another chapter done! Mollie also wrote as Seb in this chapter. Thanks for the favorites and follows and much appreciation to KittiBell and innenlebenaussenwelt for the reviews! Please don't forget to leave a review and let Mollie and I know what you think of the chapter! :) Virtual cookies to all that do!

-omnomchocolate


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**A/N: **This was cowritten with the brilliant writer par-0x-ysm who can be found on tumblr. I wrote as John and she wrote as Sherlock. Bolded words are meant to be texts. The perspectives do change back and forth.

* * *

_"Like all magnificent things, it's very simple."_  
― Natalie Babbitt, _Tuck Everlasting_

* * *

Sherlock was out cold as soon as John told him it was okay, and didn't wake up until he was in the hospital, being rolled into a room. He quickly let himself go back to sleep, the only thought crossing his mind that John was gone, and Sherlock, in his tired and pain-riddled state, was convinced he wasn't coming back.

When Sherlock finally came to again, he was in a white bed in a white room. He looked around and felt his heart plummet as John wasn't there. No one was there, but Sherlock didn't really care. John wasn't there. Sherlock awkwardly shifted in his narrow bed and winced, not trying to stop the the tears that began to form and fall down his face.

* * *

John had left the room temporarily to grab himself some coffee. He hadn't shut an eye ever since he and Sherlock had arrived at the hospital, and he desperately needed something to help keep him awake. Sherlock's condition was worse than he originally thought. Aside from the bruises, the split lip, and the broken collarbone, Sherlock also had four cracked ribs along with a light concussion.

John ruffled his hair, a warm cup of coffee in his hands, as he made his way up the stairs and back to Sherlock's room. John had been here for the past eight hours, and aside from himself, not one person had visited Sherlock. Not even Sherlock's family members. Surely, Sherlock's family was not so dysfunctional that they would shirk off seeing their own injured son? John couldn't believe it.

He opened the door, carefully stepping in to see Sherlock shifting in the bed, awake. John quickly put his coffee on the table and made his way over. "Thank God, you're awake." John smiled. "How are you feeling?" John frowned when he saw the tears dripping down Sherlock's face. "Jesus! What's wrong, Sherlock? Are you in pain?" he asked frantically, searching Sherlock's face.

Sherlock turned and realised John was there in front of him. Sherlock pulled John towards him, kissing him gently and wiping the tears away. "I thought you were gone. I thought..." Sherlock trailed off, planting a kiss on John's forehead and falling back into his bed. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, blinking the tears away.

"I over reacted slightly." He mumbled, feeling his lip and grimacing. "Sorry." The whole time he'd only been using one arm for all these things, trying to keep as still as possible and breathing very heavily. "What's wrong with me this time? I'm pretty sure the hospital will be sick of me if I keep coming back." Sherlock tried for a smile, but ran a hand over the scars on his wrist and little stitch marks there. He remembered the many times Seb had brought him here, acting like a worried boyfriend and holding him. Complaining to the nurse about just how clumsy he was. Sherlock grimaced a little and focused back at John. "Sorry."

"Sherlock," John breathed. "I would never leave you like that." He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Sherlock's. "Not ever." John pulled a chair up next to Sherlock's bed and sat down, his hand taking Sherlock's frail one in his. He frowned. "Well, um it's pretty bad, I'm not going to lie. Multiple abrasions, broken collarbone, several cracked ribs, and a light concussion." he cringed as he ran through the list. How could one person do so much damage? And it wasn't just physical. That could be measured. That could heal. It was the emotional and mental side that John was worried about. Only Sherlock knew the exact damage that had been dealt. John was starting to regret not having put several more punches in.

John looked back down at Sherlock, whose eyes were focused on him. "You don't need to apologize..." John muttered, biting his lip. "I didn't stop it fast enough. I hope you're not mad at me... for breaking the promise. I know I told you I would stay away, but there was no chance in hell I was going to let him go at you like that..." he fiddled with his fingers.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded, looking down. "I got it, it's okay." He fiddled with the sheets on the bed and bit his lip, he wanted to ask a million questions, but none of them seemed appropriate. "What happened to Seb? Do they know it was him this time? If you tell them they'll probably figure out the rest of the times too." Sherlock itched the back of his neck with his arm he could still move and frowned. He peered up at John.

"What did you do to him? I... I can't remember." He flushed a little and looked back down, trying not to mention how John had been the reason Seb had attacked him in the first place. "I... Did he tell you what made him attack me?" Sherlock whispered, refusing to make eye contact.

"No." John mumbled. He gazed towards the window, which was covered by blue curtains. John stood up and made his way over, his hands lingering on the curtains. Sunlight filtered softly through the slit in the curtains. He turned back to Sherlock. "He never told me..." John's feet shifted. "But I think I have an idea..." John didn't want to believe it, but with eight hours to think, John could only come to the conclusion that it was because of John that Sherlock was injured. John's relationship with Sherlock had landed his friend into the hospital in this horrible condition.

Sherlock watched John walk across to the window, and ached to join him. He closed his eyes slightly. "Are they pressing charges, or is it not serious enough?" He opened his eyes again, watching John carefully. "This was not your fault. You... You couldn't have done anything." Sherlock honestly believed that, even if he hadn't spent the night with John in his room, Seb would find a way to hurt him. A reason. An explanation. Sherlock shivered slightly and burrowed into the bed.

"It's up to you Sherlock." John replied softly as he moved away from the window back over to the chair. He stared absent-mindedly at a painting of clouds on the wall. How many people had been in this room before, John wondered, hoping to look outside, to see what he took for granted everyday, only to be confined to staring at this portrait on the wall? Only to have their last vision of the infinite sky, their window to the world outside, be a 30 cm by 20 cm framed image? And it wasn't even that good.

John found this to be deeply saddening.

How many times had Sherlock seen this image? How many times had he found himself staring out a closed window, longing for a way out? For how long had Sherlock stared at the sterile white walls of his room and thought about how that very window might never open for him? That maybe he didn't deserve that open window?

John didn't even know when he had started crying.

"Maybe." Sherlock mumbled, picking at the blanket. "I don't exactly have evidence." He grimaced as the pain attacked his collarbone. Then he noticed. "John?" Sherlock asked, slowly sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to reach him. "Come here, John. Please." He reached out his good arm and clenched his fingers closed and open again. He was worried, John was crying and he had no idea why. Was it him? Sherlock didn't know what to do, so he bit his lip and frowned.

"John, are you okay?" Sherlock's mind convinced itself that he'd caused this, he'd done something to make him cry and Sherlock cursed his body for being in too much pain to stand up.

John frowned, quickly wiping his tears away. "I'm bloody fine..." he tried to laugh, but it came out more as a strangled choke. Truthfully, John wasn't sure he was. "I just..." John closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. "Sorry... I'm usually not... It's nothing." John looked down at his fingers, before gazing back at Sherlock. His friend was reaching out towards him, his pale face contorted with pain but his grey eyes frantic with worry for John. John's hand met Sherlock's and he gave him the most reassuring look he could muster. He had to be strong. If not for himself, at least for Sherlock. "I was just thinking about things, Sherlock." he whispered finally.

"Things that make you cry." Sherlock clarified, pulling John closer to him. "Don't think." He mumbled, resting his forehead on John's, John almost kneeling in front of him. Sherlock searched John's eyes, reaching his hand to brush the wetness from his cheek. "It's okay not to be okay, you don't have to soldier on just to make me feel better." Sherlock smiled gently and kissed John softly on the nose. He winced a little as the bed shifted, but pulled John up next to him anyway.

"I suppose," John mumbled as he rested against Sherlock. He concentrated on the feeling of Sherlock's fingers running through his hair, on his gentle breaths, and on the steady rise and fall of his chest. John chuckled. It was a little funny that he was the one being comforted when Sherlock was the one who had been injured. He sat up and gave Sherlock a small smile. "Do you want me to open the window?"

Sherlock made a face. "But I'm cold." He mumbled, pulling John closer again. He was cold, shivering almost. And the fact he had no shirt just made it very, very obvious to him. He grimaced as he shook a little, jolting his shoulder. He tried not to pout at John, focusing instead on John's shoes. "Do you think I should press charges?" Sherlock mumbled, a blush colouring his cheeks. "I mean, he's technically still my boyfriend." He murmured, starting to pick at the blanket again.

"I don't think that matters, whether he's your boyfriend or not. He hurt you. As much as I don't want him to get away with that, I think you should do whatever you think is best for you, Sherlock. It's up to you whether you want to pursue a case against him..." John murmured as he took Sherlock's frigid hands in his. He began rubbing them between his hands in attempt to transfer some heat over. "Jesus. You are freezing! Should I go get some more blankets for you?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head and clambered awkwardly under the sheets on his bed, patting the space next to him and smiling. "We'll share body heat." He said, nose crinkling slightly as he watched John, eyes lighting up. He wasn't going to let Seb fuck things up. Not now, not again. "Of course it works better if you're naked but, I doubt the hospital will approve." Sherlock whispered, giggling a little. It still hurt, of course it did. But Sherlock wanted to make John smile again, and he wanted to forget about all this.

John chuckled, his cheeks flushing red, but he climbed onto the bed anyway. He squeezed himself in the small space between Sherlock and the bed. "Well, uh..." John pulled his shoulders together and rested his arms on top of his stomach. He played with his fingers, trying hard not to focus on his rapidly beating heart. "This is a little tight, don't you think?" He craned his neck to look at Sherlock, who was pressed against the edge of the bed.

Sherlock smiled and rested his head against John's chest. "How I like it." He mumbled, closing his eyes and linking his hand with John's. Sherlock was surprisingly contented, even considering his collarbone, ribs and whatever else. He started tracing circles on the back of John's hand. "You've never been with a guy before have you?" Sherlock asked quietly, focusing on the circles he was making and blushing a little. He didn't know whether that was appropriate or not, but he was curious.

John bit his lip, his eyes picking out the cracks in the ceiling of the hospital room. He became very aware of Sherlock's close proximity to him, of Sherlock's fingers drawing soft circles on his hand, of his hand in Sherlock's, and of Sherlock's head on his chest. John was sure that any moment his heart would fly out of his chest. "No, I haven't. Um... you would be my first." John whispered. "Well, I mean, that is, if you want that..." he quickly added.

Sherlock smiled into John's chest. "Obviously yes. I just don't think it's a good idea right now." He gestured a little to his ribs and collarbone. "When you want to." Sherlock said, sinking back against John and resting against him. He could hear John's heart beating and placed a hand on it. "Mine." He whispered, removing his hand and kissing where it used to be, a feeling of protectiveness suddenly overwhelming him. "Mine, mine, mine." He repeated, snuggling back into John's side.

John closed his eyes, trying hard to fight the big smile on his lips. He felt Sherlock's hand rest on top of his quickly-beating heart. Could Sherlock feel it? All of his emotions? His nervousness, his happiness, his love even? That made John wonder: was Sherlock's heart beating as fast as his? John placed his hand on top of Sherlock's chest, right above where his heart was. He could feel the soft thrumming of Sherlock's heart, the quick beats pulsing up his hand. Mine, mine, mine. Sherlock had said. John had always been Sherlock's, from the very beginning. "Yours." John nodded softly in agreement. "Always."

Sherlock smiled at John's hand, kissing his shoulder gently. "Always is a long time." He teased, working his mouth up his neck and to his cheek. "I don't think I'd mind spending it by your side." Almost as if to emphasise his point, Sherlock pulled John closer to him, leaving him hip to hip with John, bodies touching all the way up. He pressed his lips gently against John's, pulling away after a couple of seconds to push himself into John's side.

"I'm tired." He mumbled, eyes closing a little. Sherlock struggled against his eyelids and tried to look at John. "Love you." He mumbled almost inaudibly, eyes sliding shut and Sherlock resting his head back on John's chest.

"Love you too." John whispered, but it went unheard. John felt Sherlock's breathing slowly even out. Sherlock's face had smoothed out, his eyelids closed and the lines of hurt, of worry, and of fear, all washed away peacefully. John watched Sherlock's chest rise and fall steadily, and he smiled softly as he lay quietly in place with Sherlock's head resting gently against his chest.

John was happy.

And that was the last clear thought John had before he faded into a silent sleep.

* * *

When Sherlock woke up, he heard John's steady breathing and realized he was asleep. He looked around slowly for a clock. 3:33 AM. Sherlock blinked and smiled at the coincidence, watching carefully for the clock to turn to 3:34 AM. After a moment, he lent his head back against John's shoulder.

"I love you." He whispered, gently pressing his lips on the skin below his ear. "I'm sorry I got you involved in this, and I'm sorry I made you angry." Sherlock paused and nestled his face a little bit more into the crook of John's arm. "I'm so sorry I'm weak, and I'm sorry I'm too scared to say this all out loud when you're awake. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it, and I'm sorry I broke your heart." Sherlock sighed softly and continued to whisper to John's sleeping form.

"I know you love me, I don't get why or how or which God blessed me, but you do. And thank you, thank you for loving me when no one else did. Thank you for showing me that not everyone is just using me for sex. Thank you." Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, feeling wetness there. "I wish I could tell you." He mumbled, closing his eyes more normally and trying to find sleep. "Sorry."

* * *

John became faintly aware of a voice in the background and a hand gently shaking his shoulder. John stirred, slowly opening his eyes to find himself in the hospital bed. Small delicate strands of sunlight were filtering through the window curtains. Beside him, Sherlock was still sleeping quietly.

There was a young female nurse standing patiently beside him, a soft smile on her face. She had a small clipboard in her hands. John could feel his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He hadn't meant to fall asleep in Sherlock's bed. John carefully slid his arm out from beneath Sherlock, slowly so as not to disturb his sleeping friend, and sat upright.

"Sorry, honey," the nurse whispered, nodding towards the door. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. We'll need to do a quick checkup to make sure everything is okay."  
"Oh, yeah, sorry." John mumbled, scratching his head awkwardly. He slid off of the bed, and turned around to readjust the blanket on Sherlock. John's eyes glanced towards the time. 6:58 AM. "Is it okay if I wait outside then?"  
"Of course," the nurse nodded. There was a moment of silence before John made his way towards the door. "You've been here for a while." John paused.  
"Yes. Yes, I suppose I have." John shrugged, turning around. The nurse was making small notes on Sherlock's chart. John had been here for almost a whole day. His stomach growled loudly, and John bit his lip. "Uh, suppose I'll go get some food then."  
"The canteen is down the stairs, to the right of the lobby." John nodded in thanks. The nurse looked up from her clipboard, her pen resting in the air, and she smiled kindly at John. "You really care for him, don't you?"  
"Yes, I do." he glanced at Sherlock's tranquil form. "I always have. As mates, and as whatever else." John shifted his feet and stared back at the nurse. "I know most people might write us off, just because we're young, but I really would do anything for him."  
"I believe you." the nurse nodded, before turning back to her clipboard.

John stood still for several more seconds, before he opened the door and quietly left the room.

* * *

Sherlock was awake but kept his eyes closed, he felt John slide an arm out from under him, but kept his breathing steady. He felt a bit harsh for listening in to the conversation, but he was curious. _I know most people write us off, just because we're young, but I really would do anything for him_. Sherlock smiled gently, and pretended to sleep until John left the room. When he left, he woke up slowly, opening his eyes to the nurse. "Where's John gone?" He asked, voice a little croaky.

"Canteen." The nurse seemed more interested in checking him over than talking to him right now, so Sherlock sat up and let her poke at various bruises on his body. Eventually she left, and Sherlock sunk quickly back into the bed. He shoved his face close to the side of the pillow John had been using and breathed deeply.

Mine.

* * *

John stood in line, a plate of sausages, eggs, and baked beans in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. John paid the cashier, before gingerly making his way over to an empty table near the window. His stomach growled loudly as the smell of food permeated the air around him and wafted up to his nose. Was Sherlock hungry? John wondered as he took a bite out of the sausage. Perhaps he could grab something for Sherlock to eat before he went back up to the room? John was halfway done with his plate when he felt the presence of someone standing next to him. He looked up to see a slim, pale boy smiling down at him. The boy's hazel eyes crinkled bashfully, his hand smoothing through his ebony hair as he waved at John shyly.

"Hi. Can I sit down?" he asked, a slight Irish lilt in his voice. He nodded towards the empty chair across from John. John quickly swallowed his food, his hand gesturing at the chair and nodded.

"Yeah," John replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Go right ahead." The boy slid onto the chair, and began eating an apple. John took a sip of his coffee and looked at the boy sitting across from him. He was dressed in a grey v-neck shirt and had a pair of brown pants on. John's gaze fell on to his right hand where there was a hospital tag hanging limply around his wrist. John thought it was rather curious how the boy was not in hospital garb, seeing as he was a patient here.

The boy looked up from his apple and noticed John's staring. John blushed, turning back down to his plate and continued eating.

"Don't look sick, do I?" he asked.

"Sorry," John mumbled, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"It's fine. I'm not sick, really." The boy chuckled. "Though the doctor seems to think otherwise." he leaned in close and whispered. "But between you and me, I think they're all idiots." John swore that he saw a dangerous glint flash across the boy's eyes for a moment, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, so John couldn't tell if he had actually seen anything.

"Ah." John mumbled, chuckling nervously, and looked back down at his cold plate. From anyone else, John might have laughed, but for some reason John couldn't place, the boy sitting in front of him unnerved him.

"Dreary place, isn't it? What are you doing here?" The boy gestured around him.

"My friend was injured." John answered, taking a small bite of his eggs.

"Lucky friend he is. I've seen you around here since yesterday." He took another bite out of the apple.

"Yeah..." John nodded, picking at the beans on his plate. There was a palpable silence, save for the quiet chatter in the background and the occasional crunch of teeth biting into an apple.

"That's sweet. You two must really like each other."

John blushed.

"Is it that obvious?" he muttered, setting his fork down.

"Yes." the boy shrugged, taking another bite. John laughed at the boy's frankness.

"But you know what?" The boy crossed his legs, a slight pout on his face. "I envy that." his brown eyes flickered up to look at John.

John frowned.

"Are you... alone?"

The boy shrugged sadly, and John felt a pang of pity shoot through him.

"I'm sorry to hear that." John looked at the clock. He stood up, gathering his plate and his cup. Sherlock was probably eagerly waiting for him right now. "Sorry," John shot the boy a sheepish look. "I probably should be making my way back. It was nice talking to you. Perhaps, we'll... see each other around?"

"That would be lovely."

"My name's John." John held out his hand. The boy took it and grinned widely.

"Jim."

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**A/N**: I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! I also wrote as Jim. :3 Thanks for the favorites and follows and much appreciation to Kurikara-tan, KittiBell, and foxeeflame for the reviews! I love all of you so much!~ Have some cookies! Please don't forget to leave a review and let Mollie and I know what your thoughts are! :) Virtual cookies to all that do!

-omnomchocolate


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sherlock.

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**A/N: **This was cowritten with the brilliant writer par-0x-ysm who can be found on tumblr. I wrote as John and she wrote as Sherlock. Bolded words are meant to be texts. The perspectives do change back and forth.

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_"Beauty awakens the soul to act." _  
-Dante Alighieri

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Sherlock rolled over uncomfortably and watched the window. It seemed too sunny for February, and he cursed the hospital for keeping him so long. The door creaked and he turned, hoping for John and being massively disappointed.

"Piss off Mycroft." Sherlock muttered, turning away from him and trying to hide the wince. Mycroft noticed and smirked a little.

"Don't act childish Sherlock, I'm just concerned." Sherlock continued to ignore him. Mycroft paced towards the window and watched carefully.

"Are you aware that if you press charges against Sebastian he could easily pay off most of the jury to consider him not guilty? You aren't nearly wealthy enough to change that." Sherlock turned quickly.

"Who said I was going to press charges?" Sherlock asked, slowly sitting up. Mycroft smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"You aren't, I am." Mycroft paced back to the door, "You're welcome." Sherlock was about to protest when John walked back in. Mycroft nodded at him before walking out, leaving Sherlock wondering how many ways he could kill Mycroft without anyone finding out.

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John stood to the side of the door, a cookie in hand, watching as an unfamiliar boy with rustic brown hair nodded at him before swiftly clearing out of the room. John turned to Sherlock, raising his eyebrows, curiosity picking at him. Sherlock was glaring angrily at the door, his arms crossed and his jaw set with irritation. Clearly, Sherlock held some sort of animosity towards that boy.

"Morning Sherlock." John walked over to his friend. He turned to look at the door and then back at Sherlock. "Who was that?"

"My brother. He's an idiot and pretty much the entire English government already. He's seven years older than me." Sherlock said, still angry. He pushed it aside and looked back up at John. "Where did you go?" He enquired, pushing himself into a better position. "I woke up when you were leaving." Sherlock pushed the covers away from his legs and winced. He was still angry at Mycroft, he didn't understand why he had to stick his stupid nose in where it wasn't needed. He didn't want to press charges, or get into any type of legal battle. He just wanted it over.

"Oh." John blinked, turning back to look at the door. "Your brother." he nodded slowly, letting the information absorb. "Okay. Well then." John had to admit that Sherlock and his brother looked nothing like each other. Sherlock's brother was tall and had a slightly plump frame. His face was round, his brown eyes set deep within his peach-colored visage, and his posture was proper and authoritative. So when Sherlock said that Mycroft was the government, John didn't find it surprising at all.

However, what John was curious about was their relationship. There was some sort of sibling rivalry going on here, which John wanted to know more about, but wasn't sure he wanted to take part of. Considering Sherlock's hateful glare and the way he practically spat out the fact that the other boy was his brother, John decided it was a sensitive subject best not touched. He held out the cookie towards Sherlock.

"I was just grabbing some food." John replied, smiling. "Got you something."

"Thank you." Sherlock said, quickly biting into the cookie and smiling. He sighed and leant back, watching John's face. "You have questions." He mentioned, nibbling on the cookie and watching John. John's body language basically gave it away, and the look on his face let Sherlock know that he was curious about Mycroft. He sighed again.

"Mycroft's a dick. He thinks he's better than everyone else because my parents preferred him and he's in the government." Sherlock finished his cookie somewhat violently, making a face at the thought of Mycroft. "He wants me to press charges, and apparently is funding it."

"Well, are you going to then?" John asked, wincing slightly at the rough manner in which Sherlock finished his cookie. Definitely a very touchy subject.

"Have to." Sherlock muttered, brushing crumbs away as if they'd each had individually annoyed him. "What Mycroft says goes, and even if I don't give evidence, he'll find a way." Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, trying to avoid any thoughts of Mycroft.

John laughed at the pouty look on Sherlock's face. He looked like a little kid. John reached over, brushing off a stray crumb that Sherlock had missed. "I'll go with you, if you want." John smiled, his fingers lingering on Sherlock's face a little longer than he had intended. John pulled away, adjusting the chair and bringing it closer so that he could sit down next to Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled at the touch and nodded. "I don't think I could do it alone." He shuffled to the edge of the bed so he could sit with John better and rested his head against the bed frame. "What's the food like here? Cookies don't count." He joked, smiling gently at John and reaching for his hand. He began drawing circles again and bit his lip.

"Well, it's okay. I mean, it is a hospital after all. Not exactly gourmet." John chuckled. He was happy that Sherlock was looking a lot healthier. The color had returned to his skin and he was starting to move around more.

"I heard what you said to the nurse, and I really appreciate it." After a small pause, Sherlock looked up. "It's mutual by the way." He blushed a little and looked back to where he was drawing circles.

"Oh. You heard that." John blinked, fiddling with his fingers. He scratched his jaw and smiled. "Do you know when they are going to let you out of here?" he asked.

Sherlock made a face, "Apparently I have to stay until tonight. Although I don't really get why." He shifted again, and brought his feet up against John's legs. "I heard you. Did you hear anything last night? I woke up at 3..." Sherlock trailed off, unsure whether or not he wanted John to have heard. It would be easier than repeating it anyway.

"3:33 AM actually." Sherlock said, leaning down to itch his ankle. He hid his face on his knees, and tried not to blush.

"They probably have good reason to, Sherlock. I mean you did crack some ribs... not to mention a concussion. I'm sure it's just standard practice." John patted Sherlock on the back. He stretched his arms behind his back and gave Sherlock an inquisitive look. Why was Sherlock hiding his face? "And I didn't. Did something happen?" he leaned down and peeked at Sherlock, who averted his gaze. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock shook his head and looked up. "Just thought it was strange I woke up at exactly 3:33." He lied, biting his lip and fiddling with his hospital bracelet. "Maybe it was the concussion or something." After a moment's pause, he took John's hand and squeezed it gently. "Will you come home with me? Once I'm out, will you come back to my dorm? I... I don't know if I can cope being alone again." He tried to hide the flush working up his neck again, and averted his eyes. "But only if you want to."

John decided to drop the subject. He wasn't sure what had happened at 3:33, and although he was very curious to know, Sherlock didn't look comfortable talking about it. John felt Sherlock's hand gently wrap around his, and John looked up. He gave Sherlock's hand a tender squeeze back. "Of course, I will."

Sherlock tried to fight the smile working onto his face, and kissed John's forehead. "Thank you." He mumbled into his skin, breath dusting over John's face. "Sometimes I'll ignore you, so I'll feel in control..." Sherlock blushed again, and looked down. "But really I adore you, and I really really can't leave you alone. So I'm sorry in advance." He looked back up. "I play violin when I'm thinking. I don't really sleep that much." He furrowed his eyebrows, "Just so you know the worst." He mumbled, trying to think of anything else that could be problematic about John sharing a room. "I don't have a fridge." He said, itching the back of his neck.

"You're fine just the way you are, and I wouldn't have it any other way." John laughed, leaning forward to kiss Sherlock on the lips. He pressed his forehead against Sherlock's, and peered into Sherlock's fathomless grey eyes. He felt Sherlock's warm breath tickle his face. "Thanks for warning me, but I've been your friend long enough to be used to all of that anyway. We'll be just fine." This was a giant step forward for John, and he had to admit that he was slightly nervous. He wasn't sure how his parents would react, and he wasn't sure what it would be like, living together with Sherlock. He had never shared any sort of living space with someone he was romantically attracted to before. Nevertheless, John was happy that Sherlock had asked and he was determined to give it the best he had.

Sherlock smiled, and brought his lips back to John's. "Let's see if you say the same this time next week." He joked. He rested his forehead against John's and looked towards the window. It was slightly open, and the breeze was starting to frustrate Sherlock. "How many rules would I be breaking if I had a cigarette right now?" He asked, itching for one almost as soon as it left his mouth. He knew John was trying to make him stop, but honestly the addiction was too strong. It was the kind of addiction that fills your lungs, and bites at the back of your mind until you give in. He made a face. "Sorry."

John rolled his eyes, his forehead creasing in a stern frown. "Plenty. Sherlock, perhaps you should consider patches? They're a lot healthier than cigarettes. I swear, if you continue at the rate you're going with those cigarettes, lung cancer will kill you before anything else." John shook his head and chuckled as he watched Sherlock sulk. John bit his lip. Sherlock's injured body, along with the miserable expression on his face was making John feel exponentially guilty, even though he hadn't really done anything wrong. John tried hard to resist, but ended up giving in. "But, well... I suppose one more wouldn't hurt much. But just one!"  
Sherlock smiled, and pecked John on the lips. "Just one." He promised, fingers crossed behind his back. He reached into his bag that Mycroft had conveniently dropped there when he was pacing and grabbed them. He made a face at the brand and almost immediately stood up. "Feeling better already." He joked, pulling himself towards the window and frowning at the view. "You'd think they would put something a little bit more inspiring, instead of just a car park." Sherlock shrugged as he lit up, looking at John carefully. He sent a smoke ring towards the cars below and frowned. "Patches, meh." He muttered, flicking ash onto the window sill. "They probably don't work."  
John joined Sherlock, his arms hanging loosely outside the window. He stared as people meandered in and out of the hospital. "It's a hospital. You don't really come here for inspiration, do you?" John commented as his eyes roamed over the multitude of cars parked throughout the lot. Sunlight bounced off of the roofs of the cars and reflected brightly back into the light blue sky. He took in a deep breath of the air outside, which had the underlying sharp scent of hospital sanitation as well as the sweet and thick smell of Sherlock's cigarette. John leaned on his elbow, his head turning up to look at Sherlock. He watched as a small breeze carried dark grey specks of ashes from Sherlock's cigarette away. John couldn't help frowning again. "But you haven't tried the patches, so you don't really know."  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, and lent against the wall. "Maybe, I'll try them sometime. Just to make you happy." He said a bit half heartedly. He sent more smoke towards the cars, and looked towards John again. "I... I was talking to you at 3:33. I just... I said some things, because I knew you couldn't hear me." Sherlock blushed, and focused on the smoke trailing out the window. "I was just apologising and stuff." He mumbled, dragging more smoke out of his cigarette and pushing it out to the breeze outside.

"The sooner the better." John muttered, his fingers reaching out to grasp at the smoke wafting from Sherlock's cigarette. He stared intently as the grey strands drifted lazily away, and he marveled at the way the pale smoke contrasted against the pastel blue color of the sky. John straightened himself, his attention now fully on Sherlock. "Apologising?" He asked, his eyebrows scrunching together. "For what? You don't have anything to be sorry for."

Sherlock laughed without humor, putting his cigarette out on the windowsill and flicking it to the carpark below. "I have a lot to be sorry for." He muttered, walking back and sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. He rummaged through his bag to see what Mycroft had packed and made a face. He pushed the bag away from him, and pulled the covers over himself. "I still haven't even broken up with Seb." He pointed out, trying to prove that he wasn't as great as John seemed to imagine. "That's something to be sorry for." He itched the back of his neck in agitation and pushed the covers back off him.

John's eyes followed Sherlock as his friend moved towards the bed, picking through his bag before dropping it unceremoniously onto the ground. Sherlock squirmed around the bed, his lips pursed and an irritated scowl on his face. John stared at Sherlock, his eyebrows raised. He wasn't quite sure why Sherlock was so set on apologizing for things that John didn't blame him for. "No it's not. It doesn't make sense to apologize for that. I'm not mad at you Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled wistfully, and looked away from John. "I don't love him. I promise. I never did." He looked up and searched John's face, hoping John understood that Sherlock was somewhat trapped in the situation, and wasn't there willingly at all. "I loved you long before I even knew he existed." Sherlock said truthfully. In all honesty, when Seb first came up to Sherlock and began talking to him, all Sherlock did was compare Seb to John. He didn't really feel guilty, he just wondered why no one else in the world seemed to have John's shade of blue in their eyes.

John blushed and looked down at his hands. "Even if you had loved him, I wouldn't have hated you for it. So there's no need to be sorry." He peeked back outside the window. It finally made sense to John, why Sherlock was always sullen when John got himself a girlfriend. How had John not realized that? "So did you say anything else at 3:33 AM?" He asked.

Sherlock blushed darkly and picked at the blanket, "I remember apologizing for getting you involved in this, and making you get angry at Seb. I said sorry for being so weak, and I said sorry for not saying it all out loud when you could hear me. I apologized for not being able to stop it, and I'm pretty sure I apologized for breaking your heart. Then I told you that I knew you loved me, even though I didn't understand why or how or which God blessed me, but you do. And then I thanked you for showing me that not everyone just uses me for sex and loving me when no one else did." Sherlock didn't make eye contact and swallowed heavily, avoiding looking at John completely. He could feel the fire in his cheeks, and tried to hide his face by picking intently at the blanket.

John blinked, his arms limp by his side and his legs frozen in place. "Oh." John gaped at the window, slightly stunned. He turned around to see Sherlock burrow himself into his blanket, his gaze averted. John's heart warmed, the heat spreading through his body and lighting up his cheeks. His lips parted in a soft smile and he walked over to his friend and laid down next to Sherlock. John gently nudged the blanket away so that he could see Sherlock's face. "I love you too." John placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's nose. He frowned a little at the distressed expression on Sherlock's face. "Sherlock, you bloody idiot. You worry too much sometimes. There's nothing to forgive, because you never did anything wrong."  
Sherlock flushed deeper and peeked at John from under his blanket. "Do you mean that?" He asked, a look of hopefulness flitting across his face. "I love you a lot." He perched up a little, so he could press his lips to John's and did just that. "You're too good for me." He murmured between kisses, placing his hands instinctively on John's waist.  
"Of course I mean that." John replied firmly as he kissed Sherlock back. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's back and pulled him closer. John trailed his fingers along Sherlock's spine before resting his hand on the small of Sherlock's back. He broke away, and gave Sherlock an aloof grin. "Should we really be doing this? In a hospital? With your cracked ribs and broken collarbone?"

"I have a feeling that they don't care in the slightest." Sherlock moved so he was sitting on John's lap, arms looping around his neck. "And my bones don't care either." He smirked and continued in his exploration of John's mouth and jaw line, his hands roaming freely over John's back and hair.

"Mhm. Good then." John murmured, closing his eyes as he felt Sherlock's lips brush a line from his ear down to his neck. He smiled, leaning down so that his nose was in Sherlock's hair. "You smell good for someone who's been in the hospital for an entire day." John joked as his fingers caressed the back of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock chuckled a bit, and started working on John's throat again. He was probably leaving marks, but he was carefully avoiding hurting John. "It's a talent." He joked, hands sliding under John's shirt and drawing lazy circles across the base of his spine. "I want to go home now." He muttered, catching John's bottom lip between his teeth.

"It's a useful one to have." John laughed, pressing his forehead against Sherlock's. He stared into Sherlock's smoldering steel eyes, and John's mind clouded with desire. John was suddenly feeling very, very hot, and it didn't help that Sherlock's hands were teasing the small of his back. If it weren't for the fact that they were in a hospital, he might have done something about it. Instead, John quickly shut his eyes, his teeth biting hard on his lips as he tried to think about something other than how good Sherlock's lips felt on him. "God, Sherlock, I don't know how much more of this I can handle."

Sherlock immediately let go, resting his forehead against John's and kissing him a little softer. "Sorry. Forgot where we were." He mumbled, changing his position so he wasn't leaning so much weight on John's lap. "Later." He promised, smoothing out the back of John's shirt and biting his lip. "But only if it's okay with you." He added, quickly making sure John knew Sherlock wouldn't force him into anything. He knew what it was like to be forced into situations you didn't want to be in and he shivered slightly.

"It's a date, then." John nodded, a slight hollow feeling replacing the fire in his body. He wished that they were anywhere more private than a hospital. Sherlock looked so bloody adorable. John slumped into Sherlock's chest, his shirt obscuring John's face. John let out a heavy groan. "Sherlock, you'll be the death of me." he mumbled, his words slightly muffled.

Sherlock tried not to smirk and failed, running a hand through John's hair. "Sorry." He said, throat vibrating on John's forehead. "Didn't realise." His voice was deep, and still laced with the heat they'd just left behind. Sherlock pulled John closer to him and shifted to fit better next to him. "One day I'll use that against you."

"Bloody evil." John muttered, shaking his head lightly, before he looked up at Sherlock. "You hungry?" John asked, cracking a small smile.

"Not at all." Sherlock lied, not wanting to move from where he was with John. "Are you?" He subconsciously pulled John closer to him, his nose against his neck.

"No." John leaned back to give Sherlock a stern glance. "But you haven't eaten anything since yesterday. Except for a cookie. Which is not nearly enough." he frowned. Sherlock always had this bad habit of forgetting to eat. It always seemed that it was up to John to remind him, or else Sherlock would completely skip his meals.

Sherlock made a face, and wrinkled his nose into John's hair. "But I don't want to move." He complained, sounding like a child. "I choose you over food everyday." He mumbled, kissing John's temple. His stomach rumbled in protest and he hid his face.

"Which is both flattering and unhealthy." John chuckled at the large growl coming from Sherlock's stomach. He raised an eyebrow. "I'll go buy some for you, if you want. What do you want?"

Sherlock made a whining noise and clung to John. "I don't want you to go." He pouted and ignored what his stomach was telling him. "We'll go down later." He mumbled, not really meaning it.

John shot Sherlock a skeptical look. "We're not going to do anything else, until you eat." John crossed his arms, ignoring the way Sherlock was holding onto him. This was something he was firm on.

Sherlock pouted again. "Fine, but you do not leave me okay?" Sherlock stood up slowly and stretched, a sliver of stomach showing. He smiled gently at John, "I think I want bacon."

John laughed, giving Sherlock's shoulder a squeeze. "Of course. Now let's go get you some food, your majesty."

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**A/N**: Fluff and stuff this chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it. Please don't forget to leave a review and let us know what you think, Mollie and I appreciate each and every one of them. Virtual cookies to KittiBell for the reviews! Thank you everyone for the follows and favorites. Much love!~

-omnomchocolate


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